


The Shaggy Defense

by ChalkHillBlue



Category: Holby City
Genre: Comedy of Errors, F/F, Jealousy goggles, Mistaken Identity, Sacha is a sweetheart and anyone would be lucky to have him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8606839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChalkHillBlue/pseuds/ChalkHillBlue
Summary: Robbie goes for a quick drink after his final check-up. When he hears somebody mention Bernie's name, the ex-copper in him can't help but do a little bit of reconnaissance on the man who stole Serena's heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Tumblr prompt about Robbie assuming Bernie is a bloke. I wrote this on the bus on the way home. When I went to upload it I see that we already have another fic for this prompt. Hopefully the more the merrier?
> 
> (This is a two-parter. In chapter two Robbie has a heart to heart with "Sasha" about this bloke who's been messing Serena about.)

Chapter 1

He never would have risked a drink in Albie's if he hadn't been certain that Serena had a day off and was spending it miles away from Holby, on a visit to her daughter. Raf swore it. Robbie had made triply sure of that when he'd made the appointment.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see Serena. It was that he knew he wanted to see her a little too much. He'd get over it. The months they'd been apart he had missed her - but in a wistful sort of way. Getting on with his life. Enjoying his retirement. Even dating. A bit. Once or twice. If none of the women he'd met had managed to spark much in him, what of it? He hadn't been pining for Serena.

Admittedly, he was pining for her now. There was no point in denying it. Maybe she was right about the way a brush with mortality could change your view of the world, and maybe it _was_ the fear of cancer that had made him certain that this time he'd hit the jackpot. He could get on with Jason for her sake. It was easier now that he was retired; he was less stressed himself. Jason was all right, really. And Serena - Serena was beautiful. Serena was vibrant. Serena was sexy and funny and clever and fun. Serena was like the sun coming out after a long spell of slightly shit weather that you'd just gotten used to.

So here he was in Albie's. An all-clear on his health. Confirmed intelligence that there was no risk of running into his ex. And his mind full of absolutely nothing and nobody else. He ordered a second whiskey and thought of the ex-coppers he knew who were current soaks. Christ, when had he become such a cliché? This was his last one and tomorrow he'd spend twice as long as usual at the gym, he promised himself.

Unfortunately, a tendency toward morose drinking was not the only hangover of a life spent on the force. It also gave you an exceptional ability to filter the sounds in a pub around you and pick out the threads that might be relevant to your case. It wasn't something you learned to switch off. That's why - without intending, without even really knowing he was listening - Robbie heard the name he'd resolutely refused to ask about.

 _"...Serena and_ Bernie _? Are you serious?"_

_"What rock have you been living under for the past six weeks?"_

_"The rock of my father just died."_

_"Oh, shit. Yeah. Shit - I'm so sorry, man."_

_"You're a dickhead - but seriously - Serena and Bernie? That's got to be bollocks."_

_"I'm just saying what I heard, Phil. It was all over the hospital when - oh, cheers. Thanks, Jamal. What do I owe you for that? You're a star; I'll get the next one."_

Robbie shook his head and forced himself to pick up his glass and move further down the bar away from the gossiping group. No good would come of eavesdropping. It'd only make things worse. But now, to his chagrin, he had another lead and his mind set to chewing it over whether he wanted it to or not. Bernie. Serena's "someone else" was called Bernie.

Against all training Robbie took against the man on the sound of his name alone. Who the hell was still called "Bernie" in this day and age? It conjured up images of cardigans, house slippers… air-raid wardens, probably. He wasn't even completely sure what one of those was, but he felt sure the name Bernie would suit. He knew it was petty even as he thought it. But how could a Bernie be worthy of Serena?

 

Robbie made up his mind to leave. He'd zipped up his coat, thrown back the last of his whiskey, and was halfway across the room before the universe threw another irresistible clue in his path.

Two women were standing blocking the entrance and as he went to excuse himself one of them - and really, what was the universe playing at? - one of them said to the other: "Raf's not here tonight, but I saw Bernie come in about fifteen minutes back. Check the corner." She gesticulated towards the back of the bar. The first woman nodded and headed that way.

Robbie knew he was going to do it even before his brain could finish telling itself what a stupid idea it was.

With the ease of years of practice he slipped into a confident, open camaraderie and spoke to the woman who'd just named the man Robbie couldn't help but think of as his rival:

"Excuse me - sorry - couldn't help overhearing. Did you say Bernie was here? Having trouble finding anyone in this crush." He added a helpless shrug and a smile for good measure.

The bar _was_ unusually busy. Shift change, Robbie guessed. At any rate, the woman was entirely unsuspicious of his question.

"Yeah," she said. "I think I saw - oh yeah! Over there in the corner by the jukebox, see? Sitting with Sacha. Haha - just keep an ear out for the sound of that shirt over the din!"

Robbie looked where she was pointing and through a break in the crowd got his first glimpse of the man he was looking for. He was sitting with a blonde woman (Robbie's policeman's brain meticulously filed the name "Sasha" and then dismissed her as irrelevant), and he was indeed wearing a shirt that could be described as 'loud' only in the same way that Everest was 'high' or Coldplay were 'dull'.

With a nod of thanks, Robbie slipped further into the room, losing himself in the crowd but keeping his prey in sight. So this was the man who made Serena blush like that. The other man. The better man.

Robbie had to admit - look - he didn't like to judge anybody on first appearances. That was profiling and he'd have a young PC's balls for it. But you couldn't help it sometimes and, well, this Bernie was batting a bit out of his league with Serena, wasn't he? He did, on reflection, look a bit like a 'Bernie', Robbie conceded. He was about his own age, he supposed, but definitely not keeping himself in the same nick. His hair was dyed unnaturally dark. He was carrying some extra weight. And that shirt. Christ.

As Robbie watched him, Bernie laughed aloud at something the blonde woman said. His grin spread ear to ear as he actually hit the table in mirth. Bit clownish, wasn't he? Robbie thought nastily. What the fuck did this guy have that Robbie didn't? He watched a bit longer. Bemused. A little horrified with himself he tried to imagine Serena into the scene. He couldn't picture it. Still he focussed on Bernie who was now gesticulating broadly as he told a story of his own.

Knowing he was only torturing himself, Robbie closed his eyes and conjured a memory of Serena's face. He imagined her smile. He imagined her sparkling dark eyes. He imagined the tilt of her chin and the line of her jaw. And then he opened his eyes again and imagined that look focussed on Bernie.

And suddenly he was defeated.

What did it matter if Robbie silently reckoned this Bernie was about a 4 to Serena's 10? The man looked happy. The man looked kind. And if Serena loved him then the man must be a truly wonderful bloke, mustn't he?

 _Still_ , he thought. _I bet I could take him._

It made him feel ever so slightly better.

 

Intrigued now, and as curious as he'd ever been on any case of his career, Robbie took in the rest of the small group in the corner. The woman from the doorway hadn't joined them - clearly it had been Raf or nothing for her. There were just the three of them huddled round a small table. Bernie, Sasha, and a much younger man in a tight t-shirt. The young man kept glancing over to the bar where a handsome chap in an expensive suit was queuing for drinks.

Either his partner or somebody he has his eye on, Robbie thought. Whichever it was it meant the young man had less than half his attention on Bernie, and Robbie was unlikely to get any useful feedback from watching him.

He turned his attention to Sasha instead. Blonde. About 5' 8". Fifty, maybe? Sporty type, probably. She held herself straight, her posture broad and open. He wondered if some sort of injury made her sit that way, or if it was just the hard seats of Albies. It almost looked military. She was certainly paying closer attention to Bernie than the young man was. She did not, however, seem to be responding with the same hilarity as he had to her story. Her smile seemed reserved and she glanced from time to time at her phone. Was this Bernie bloke a bore?

Robbie kept watching. Sasha smiled a little more. At one point laughed outright at something Bernie said while pointing to the man still queueing at the bar. Gradually Robbie began to get a read on the situation. This wasn't a woman bored by a man who wouldn't shut up (alas). This was a man doing everything in his power to cheer his companion up and occasionally succeeding. Probably a very nice bloke, in fact.

A new suspicion now nudged at the edge of Robbie's thoughts. "It's beyond complicated", Serena had said. What had she meant?

Was Bernie not single? That was usually the complication, wasn't it? Could this man who had somehow managed to snag _Serena Campbell_ be insane enough not to want her? (He pushed down the relevance of that thought to his own past idiocy).

Robbie narrowed his eyes and scrutinised the scene in front of him again.

This Sasha was certainly age-appropriate. No wedding ring. Probably worked in the hospital. (99% of the people who drank here did, and they were all in and out of each other's beds like a _Carry On_ film. Serena had told him that - he remembered, freshly stung - back in the days when she swore she herself would _never_ get involved with a colleague. She'd liked that he didn't know a stethoscope from a sphygmomawhatsit.)

She was good looking too, he acknowledged. Not his type. He liked dark and sparkling. He liked that air of naughty sophistication. Actually no - he didn't. That probably wasn't a trending type for him at all, thinking about it. Historically. It was just that right now nobody compared to Serena.

Might a man like Bernie be interested in this Sasha woman? (Why? Why would anyone choose anyone over Serena?) He might like that tussle of unruly blonde hair. She was probably smart. She had a nice, if fleeting smile.

Robbie wondered for a mad moment whether there was something he could do to help those thoughts along. If Bernie and this Sasha _were_ interested in each other. If they _did_ hook up, would Serena get over him? Could it be that easy?

Christ. No. Robbie stepped back appalled at himself. If Serena wanted Bernie then Serena deserved Bernie. If he made her happy then that should be the end of the matter and this Sasha woman could take her blonde curls and her little smiles a thousand miles away from here. Feeling guilty for even having thought it, Robbie (confirmed agnostic though he was) sent a little prayer to anybody who might be listening that the blonde woman would finally get that text she was obviously hoping for, and that Serena would have her happy ending.

Suddenly exhausted and fed up of the whole thing, Robbie turned and left the pub.

 


End file.
